


you don't feel like mine

by reinaaaaa



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, how to tag., i bet i unconsciously self-insert just watch, i feel like it's a little ooc but i also don't know who else would fit this story, inspired by a d.mon comic on twt i can't find anymore, just in case you don't like it i think they're not that emotionally stable, oneshot because i can't write a sustainable story to save my life, please let me know if there's more things i need to tag, when i say ooc i mean junhui is an asshole in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinaaaaa/pseuds/reinaaaaa
Summary: They are all public figures, celebrities, people who will get recognised by the people on the street who harness cellphone cameras like soldiers on the battlefield, their tight grip on their weapons. To them, their public images are important, its presence as important to them as the presence of oxygen.What will happen when Minghao finds himself in love with Junhui?(title from HyunA (my queen)'s "BABE")





	you don't feel like mine

**Author's Note:**

> i once saw a tweet that said something like "people who read angst are so fucking powerful...like you just read that shit for fun? you wake up and just think 'gonna fuck around and fucking break my own heart today'?" and i'm like. yeah. that's me. i just fuck around and think of shit that makes me feel like shit all day everything's fine i mean everything's on fire but it's okay

SEVENTEEN. Successful idols from a small company that was nearing bankruptcy. Known for their incredibly synchronised choreography, their talent, and their animated personalities. 

Yes, as if no other idol group has a sense of humour.

Minghao sometimes thought to himself about how fabricated this very industry he worked in is, and how it will continue to be just a marionette, strings pulled taut by the general public and the higher-ups. Does anyone around here even have a real personality? As far as he knew, his members worked very hard to be able to show off their bright smiles on TV as if they've always been this lively bunch of boys with a knack for entertaining. He sees them collapse the moment they reach home on a long, tiring day, their smiles falling off their faces like wild birds being shot down by a veteran hunter. He does the same, as he trudges into his artistically decorated, one-person room. He did love art, but to make it his entire character? His boss told him it would make him come off sophisticated and people will be "pleasantly surprised" when he does silly things for a show. 

Give him a break. 

Minghao grabs a bottle of wine, 3-quarters empty, from his wine fridge and pulls out the cork and pours out a cup. It helps him to stop thinking so much. He'd appreciate it if he could just stop antagonising his workmates as if he doesn't do the same thing himself, deceiving millions of fans from every corner of the world that he deserves to be loved. Perhaps he does deserve love, but for people to pay hundreds just to see them sing and dance on stage? He fails to fathom the idea. He has people he idolises himself, but he wouldn't pay to see them. He's grateful he has a paycheck, albeit mostly funded by teenage girls, but alas, money is money. As long as he can keep going steadily while being able to give back to his family, he will keep up this facade. Disguise his real feelings, drizzle honey on his words and spread frosting on his actions.

 _This is all for the best_ , he thinks. _This isn't hurting anyone_.

* * *

 Junhui is happy. At least, that's what he thinks. He has a family who cares about him, friends who adore him, dote on him. He eats well, sleeps well, he's living the life! 

He thinks. 

Sometimes in the dead of the night, having woken up drenched in cold sweat, he thinks. Is he happy? Or has his cheerful character taken over his system? He doesn't know anymore, and at this point, he might just be too afraid to try to figure it out. So he gets up, ruffles his dry grey hair as he tiptoes around his roommates and to the bathroom. He combs it a little, smoothing out the tips sticking out here and there, and then quietly tiptoes out of the room and to the kitchen. He finds a tripod and sets his phone on it, takes out his hotdog machine from the kitchen cupboard and plugs it in. He pulls his lips into the shape of a smile, his index fingers at both ends. He stretches his facial muscles a couple more times and pulls out a bag of sausages from the refrigerator. He presses record. He starts by saying hello, in a moderately soft voice, because god knows what would happen if he wakes anyone up. He looks himself in the eye through his phone's screen.

God. He looks fucking exhausted.

"I'll just cut this out later," he says out loud, then splashes cold water on his face. The kind of cold you'd get coming from the taps on a spring night. If he was only half-awake before, he is absolutely conscious now. He sits back down, a pool of condensation already gathering beneath the plastic bag holding the sausages. He checks himself out again. _Perfect_ , he thinks. _This is the me they know_. _This is the Wen Jun Hui everyone knows and loves and he will now cook hotdogs in the middle of the goddamn night just because he just seems like he'd be the type to do that_.

Junhui sighs, as he bites down, the outer layer breaking with a snap.

* * *

 Sweet, intelligent, artistic, beautiful.

Minghao logged onto the group's official Twitter account, just so he could post a cute selfie or two and thank his fans for supporting him. The notifications, shown as a minimalistic image of a bell, with an unfathomable number plastered on one corner of it. He clicks in. He knows he's not supposed to, but he was curious. It was mostly full of people tagging the account, sometimes even without including a message in the tweet. He keeps scrolling, scanning the notifications, until something catches his eye. It was a long paragraph, phrases as smoothly written as a love letter to one's muse. As it seems, that muse is Minghao.

Pity, he sneers. He knows he's not as great of a person as whoever this user is thinks he is, but he also knows that that is just who he is to the public eye. So he pays it no mind. He keeps scrolling, and sees another long paragraph. It's about Junhui this time, his elder brother by one year, the happy-go-lucky kid who he depended on greatly ever since he step foot on Korean soil. "His smile is brighter than the sun," Minghao reads mockingly. "I love him so so so so much." 

Wow, if only they actually knew him. The Junhui he knows. The boy who he knows better than anyone else in their group, the child actor, the mischievous prankster. Behind that playful smile, all of the denial Junhui's ever felt ever since he was child, his disappointment in his lack of popularity, Minghao knows it all. He feels glad that he knows what the fans don't know. 

Minghao knows Junhui.

* * *

 

Cute, handsome, tall, funny.

Junhui uploaded his hotdog grilling video, after cutting out his deathly tired face, and adding in jokes tailor-made to show off his "playful personality". The response is great, with people downloading the video and sharing it all over the internet, translating it so that the non-Chinese fanbase can understand his words. The comment section on his Weibo is full of memes, funny screenshots of silly faces with laughter-inducing text adorning said picture. Being meme-able seems to be a valid reason to be loved nowadays, and Junhui just rolls with it. He carefully selects his actions, his facial expressions, and then waits for the reactions to roll in. It helps him feel a little better about himself. It feels nice to know that people are buying into his funniness, his antics. 

After all, he is nothing without it, as he's been told. He sure does have good looks, and some might say he's world-blindingly beautiful. And he knows, he's sure that some part of him knows, the part of him he locked away, or, to be more exact, his cheerful persona shoved him into a cell, slammed the big metal door on him. He only comes out at night- when he's so exhausted physically his true self can finally sneak out of the dark, humid cell. He hates it when that happens. Or is it his character who hates it? He doesn't know anymore. 

He's sure he'd rather not know. His life is forever filled with uncertainty but he knows that he doesn't want to mess with the walls that keeps his true self away. He sees the shipping posts. He sees all of the posts, the good, the bad, the unsettling ones, too. He knows that everyone looks at how he looks at Minghao and he knows they eat it up like starving ghosts. He sees the people saying that people shouldn't ship real people. And he agrees. But he knows something, because he's always looking at Minghao. The boy is unexpectedly easy to read. 

Junhui knows Minghao.

* * *

Minghao knows, has it practically engraved in his mind, that he likes Junhui. Not as a friend, though the elder had been helpful to him when they were first starting out. Minghao wasn't uncomfortable about his sexuality, but he wasn't about to let the generally homophobic public know and destroy his career in a split second. But he also wasn't the type of person to keep his feelings in his gut and not let them out.

He wasn't ready, though, he knew that much, even though as the days pass he starts growing more and more suspicious of himself. What am I doing? Why am I doing this? He asks, to no one in particular. He's never sure about what to answer, so he wouldn't. It's good enough to go with the flow and have other more put-together people lead them to greater success. It's good enough to keep going like this, but he's still uncomfortable with it. There is an emptiness in his chest he can't fill no matter how much wine he ingests or how many praises and compliments he reads about himself. It's not enough, won't be enough, never will be enough. 

He sees them, too, the ships, or so the fans call it. "No matter how you look at it, Junhui is so whipped for Minghao," they say. He had to look up what "whipped" meant the first time he saw it, and he couldn't have disagreed more. Junhui wouldn't. Junhui, the Junhui he knows so well, would never fall in love with him. The cheerful, shining boy onstage might, but the fucking tired boy? Never in a million years. He knows. He knows well enough to never bring it up. Minghao sees Junhui struggle to fight his work personality and he sees him lose over and over again, as imaginary as his opponent is. He feels pity for him. Minghao doesn't have to put on a happy face all the time, if he relaxes his expressions, he can easily slip into his "savage" personality, throwing out witty remarks and innocent disses. But Junhui? He's always smiling. A constant, unchanging grin plastered on his face and kept there for as long as needed as if it was taped on. Losing that smile is going to unnecessarily worry the fans, and they'll end up blaming the company, to quote their boss. 

Disgusting. It's heartbreaking for Minghao to watch. But he can't do anything.

* * *

If Junhui was to describe Minghao from the bottom of his heart, he'd say that Minghao is a person who writes everything on his damned face. Junhui admits that he isn't the brightest of the bunch, but there is no doubt that he can read Minghao like a picture book, his micro-expressions as colourful and as self-explanatory as the childishly drawn illustrations. 

He knows that Minghao is in love with him. Fine, they're a bunch of boys, around each other 24/7, he understands. He understands but he does not reciprocate his feelings. His true self, still being held captive in his depths, tugs at his strings, screams with all of its might that he loves Minghao, not just as a friend. But he shuts it out. He doesn't have time to be in love, he does not deserve to be in love, he does not. He silences his feelings. There is no need for them when there is still so much to do.

It's too tiring for him to consider other people's feelings. He harbours some sort of mother-like instinct to take care of Minghao, to give him a push when he needs one. He doesn't want to hurt him, but at the same time, he doesn't want to care. That pure, innocent soul, written as the snarky, adorably intelligent character in this seemingly endless novel. He knows Minghao, so he knows. He knows that Minghao wouldn't say anything hurtful, jokingly or not. He knows that Minghao hates being "cute", and Minghao, in some occasional periods where he let down his guard, has expressed that he doesn't like it. It turns out fine, as expected, people thinking he thinks that it's just an overused term. It has been overused since day one, Minghao tells Junhui one day, but Junhui just tells him to accept it. _There's not much I can do even if you tell me that_ , he mumbles, after the younger leaves to attend to some other business.

Poor thing. Junhui looks on, his upturned lips not matching his cold gaze whatsoever. 

* * *

Minghao finally breaks one day, the thoughts of his unrequited love knocking on the door to his mind every waking second. Half unconscious of his emotions, he texts Junhui, in his usual manner, asking him to meet him at a park. It's the fucked hours of the night, but he doesn't care. Can't care, not when he's on the verge of going insane. He hopes he doesn't show his lunacy on his face, that his expressions don't just spell out "I'M CRAZY" in the most comprehensible font known to man, but he can't check, not when he's also crying, the tears obstructing his vision, turning his surroundings into a blurred mess, the streetlights reflecting off the droplets, nearly blinding him. He wipes them away furiously. Junhui doesn't need to see this. Not when he's about to do what he's about to do.

Junhui arrives, in his regular outfit, a hoodie and some jeans, which Minghao can tell he put on hastily, considering one pant leg is higher up than the other. He doesn't point it out. There's no point, and it's not that great of a conversation starter. He smiles a little, as the elder boy strides up to him, an unreadable grin spread out on his beautiful face. "Hey," he calls out, extending his hand for a high five, despite being aware of how stupid is since they live together. Junhui gives him the high five though, and he feels grateful, to say the least.

"I have something to say to you." Minghao starts out, suddenly unable to meet Junhui's eyes, and he stares at the faraway full moon, the bright, round light in the dark, starless sky, distorting itself in its reflection in the body of water underneath the bridge the two boys stood on. Junhui lets out a small sound, questioning him. Minghao clears his throat, tries to focus his gaze on Junhui. He barely succeeds, as he forces words out his mouth.

"I'm in love with you." Minghao squeezes his eyes shut, so scared, too scared of what will happen. He made an impulsive decision and he knows he needs to face its consequences, but he wants to avoid it, even for just a second. He reopens his eyes in shock when he feels Junhui's warm hands take his, gently, as if his hands will break if treated with any less care. He looks at Junhui, scans Junhui's face for any sign of annoyance, confusion, any negative emotion.

There is none. Junhui is smiling. His grin grows, his grip on Minghao's hands tighten as he pulls him in for a hug. Minghao starts crying again, he's shocked, so shocked he can't read the warning signs that tell him that this is not the best case scenario he was thinking of. He ignores them, tears streaming down his face and leaving stains on Junhui's grey hoodie. 

* * *

Junhui absolutely saw this coming. To be fair, he thinks Minghao should've, too. But he was probably too hysterical to think, the poor boy. He had just washed this hoodie, too, and now he has to throw it in the laundry pile again. Not that he minds. He has plenty of hoodies, mostly gifts from women who are far too obsessed with him. It comes with fame, he sighs, and he moves on from the thought. 

He didn't want to hurt Minghao, not when they were on a bridge, and when Minghao had "I'm going to throw myself off the bridge if you reject me" written all over his face. So he smiled. He'll play this out as smoothly as possible if it means that nothing will happen to their image. Suicide is still pretty stigmatised in Korea and if they didn't want to be known as "the group whose member tried to kill himself", he knows better than to say what he really feels. He knows better, he knows better. Because he knows, he also knows that even though he pulled Minghao into that sickeningly heart-warming hug, there's not much they can do about it. 

"It's okay," he tells Minghao, whispering into the younger's ear as if he was the night breeze grazing the trees. "I understand." He says, but it's only a half truth. He understands, but he's about as in the dark about it as the boy he's comforting is. Everything is so uncertain again, he thinks, thinks again. He despises the thought, that he can't be sure that Minghao won't suddenly stop crying and call him out for lying to him, despite it being a white lie, designed, cut, decorated to be a kind statement. Minghao doesn't, and he's grateful. He prefers the kid crying on his shoulder over the one who acts like he knows it all.

He embraces Minghao again. He's thankful to the exceedingly cold spring night that turned the tap water so cold it might have just been in the freezer compartment of their refrigerator. For once, he's glad his work self has taken over him, pillaged and sabotaged his true self. Who knows what he would do if he was just the cold Chinese beauty who has just been too tired for too long?

* * *

The next day, at a fansign, Junhui is extra clingy. He switched seats with Seungkwan, just so he could sit next to Minghao, grabbing the younger's hand every chance he got. He leaned on him, hugged him, all with a stupidly large grin on his face. 

"What are you doing out of a sudden?" Minghao asks. He's not used to the sudden increase in affection. He keeps looking at Junhui, trying to read for any signs that say "this is just a joke". There weren't any. Just a blank wall, with a stupidly large grin on it. Junhui leans in, unnecessarily close to Minghao, his whispers brushing against his ears amongst the delighted screams of the many girls downstage. 

"The fans eat it up so easily, don't they?" Junhui giggles, before he hops away and into some other member's personal space. Minghao stands there, dumbfounded. He understands now, and he hates that he understands. He wishes he could have just been oblivious, but he can't when Junhui reveals it's just going to be a publicity act. He's angry, disappointed, he even feels pity for his own emotions. But that's no longer any of his concern now. He hears someone call his name and he turns his head, a slight smile on his face, smile lines appearing on his small face. He poses, poses again. Acts like everything is fine.

Minghao thought he knew Junhui, but as it turns out, he didn't. But that stopped mattering to him.

Minghao doesn't know Junhui, not anymore, but he does know that Junhui doesn't have time to love, doesn't want to love, so he grabs Junhui's hand and holds it for the rest of the event, making heart poses at every camera that point his way.

 

Because he is in love with Junhui, he will play his game. 

Even if it means Minghao will never be truly happy ever again.

 

 This is all for the best.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i am so fucking sorry for writing this
> 
> just a casual...first fic...passing by...just casually...being angsty as fuck..y'know..
> 
> the ending is kinda sloppy because i couldn't find my reference (the comic) and sort of forgot how the ending was like but i guess that's just how it is on this hell of an earth


End file.
